The Syn Crescent
by pitkat
Summary: A family carries a dark legacy, a secret each Holder must carry to their death, passing It on to the next. The saying that misfortune comes to those who carry Its burden is true – and while this is not the first Note she has come across, she is satisfied it would be her last.
1. Chapter 1

Hi All! I have jumped fandom TWICE in my attempts to finish a story of mine from Dragon Age, and I fear it will be a while before I am able to finish that thought. This is a story that's been bounding around my head for a couple months ever since I watched the DN anime series and refuses to leave until I put some of it on paper. The story is focused on an OC perspective, but involves all of the Whammy House characters, which I found the most compelling in the original story. These are mostly character studies, really, of the Whammy kids from another's perspective and how she is eventually involved/not involved with the Kira case.

Quick note before we start: George Lambert is a real person. Deceased, but real. I wanted to use something based in reality as an anchor to the main character who is entirely fictional. But hopefully, this does not offend anyone who might be a Lambert out there. Happy reading, and please let me know what you think!

Chapter 1

Jessica Lambert knew It was there for as far back as she could remember. _It_ was a shadow that lingered in the corners of her eye, a passing specter that she could never quite catch. She felt Its presence most when she was around her grandfather, Lord George Lambert II, a scruffy old man aged well into his seventies. She just assumed the ghost must be her uncle, for all Its willingness to cling to him. The younger man died long before she was born, his grave situated in the family mausoleum on a hill in the local cemetery of Devon. The family had since moved after his death to Switzerland, and the little girl visited every summer whilst her parents travelled abroad.

Jessica was very close to her grandfather. George was a quiet man; years spent in British parliament had taken a toll on his desire to debate much on anything anymore. For all of his reclusively, however, he doted on the youngest Lambert in the family. The little girl, with her chocolate brown hair curling delicately out of her pigtails to frame a heart-shaped face was a darling, and every summer, he took his time to introduce her to his other elderly guests, who visited from all over the world. From dignitaries to politicians to artists to scientists, the girl had ample opportunity to charm her way around the gentlemen's hearts, running into her grandmother's arms when she suddenly became too shy.

Jessica soon learned that the shadow that lingered in the rooms her grandfather frequented was not immobile. It had seemingly taken a fancy to her too, as she would catch it whilst she was alone, playing in the garden or reading in the library. The presence did not feel morbid, but then again why should she think it was lurking out of some sense of malice if the spirit was an old relative. A guardian, Jessica decided. That must be what it is.

She would eventually spend her afternoons chatting into the emptiness of the room, although nothing ever answered back. The one-way conversations felt comforting for how much the stalker unnerved her at times. It would simply linger just out of sight and stare, she presumed. When she peered up from her tea set surrounded by her dolls and stuffed animals to the corner the offending gaze was coming from, it would be gone as always. And the older she got, the more she wondered if she was just seeing things, wanting to believe it was more than it was, or if she was just desperate for the being, whatever it was, to go away.

In the winter, her grandparents visited at her home near Wycombe for the Christmas Holiday, bringing with them presents and well wishes. She would hug her grandfather's lap and demand that he spin her stories of the old days before the War and his adventures overseas. He would always chuckle and say that she was too young. He would read her Christmas stories instead until she fell asleep and then tuck her carefully into the safety of her pink covers in the wee hours of Christmas morning.

It was on one of these visits, though, that she realized this shadow – this being that fluttered out of her line of sight – was actually following him. Even now in the stone cold of the winter night, in her home, her own room, she could suddenly feel its presence looming over her like a suffocating blanket, like the billows of death, and the for first time in all of her encounters with It, the thoughts It conjured were not pleasant. Bounding from her bed, she ran to her mother's bedside crying, certain there was someone watching from her wardrobe only to discover nothing but her clothing and teddy bears. It was then that she confessed her knowing that the creature that lingered in the corner came with her grandfather. That It must be her old uncle, but that he was not supposed to follow. He should have moved on to God in Heaven.

There is no such thing as ghosts, so her mother admonished. This was just part of her imagination, an excellent one at that, conjuring up figures from the shadows and light splashing across her window in the moonlight. The words felt like a scolding to the girl, who would never lie or make up stories for the sake of her fear. She instead turned to her grandfather with a pleading look only to see one of despair returned. He said nothing, but did not move to comfort her either. It was the first experience of betrayal in her short life.

But, by Christmas morning, Jessica started to let go of the fear clinging to her chest, her sole focus on the gifts beneath the tree like the night before was just a bad dream. All day, she willed herself to forget until the evening came, of course. Cautiously as her grandfather tucked her into her covers, she questioned in all the seriousness an eight-year-old could muster, "Why is there a shadow following you?"

He paused, patting her head softly, "Are you sure you saw something?"

Jessica nodded solemnly.

"What did this shadow look like?"

She blinked once, twice, raking with wide eyes around the room. What did the shadow look like? She must have seen something to scare her so badly.

After a long silence, the old man smiled, "Perhaps, when you are older, you can tell me."

As Jessica aged, she stilled visited her grandfather in the summer and sometimes went travelling with him and her grandmother, Patsy, to see old friends. George Lambert II was a patron to agriculture and education, and he donated copious amount time and money to charities all over England and Europe.

George was particularly fond of orphanages, and his philanthropy extended to closing the state run schools and setting up better, private ones. There was a circle of elderly friends, of which, she guessed, must have all met during the War and that her grandfather was an inner member. These men were of similar mind and made an effort to keep in touch, even after their careers and notoriety had vanished into the ether with their retirement. They played cards together when they met up in Geneva on off summer weekends. Six men, all in their sixties or seventies, from various parts of Europe, recalled better and worse events in their lives as though they were sniffing out a fine brandy or dessert wine. Each one had a better tale to top the other.

The girl, now eleven, chatted away with them, making her best attempt at a poker face, all the while indulging in the cakes lining the edge of the table. Some of circle liked riddles, bouncing them back and forth across the table, attempting to stump her in the process like the grand game it was.

"Four dilly-dandies," the first man, Mr. Cross, chimed in song.

"Four stick standies," another respond across the table, Mr. Pfizer, placing his ante square in the center, "Yours Quillish."

"Two crookers," Mr. Wammy raised.

"Two lookers," A fourth, Mr. Nestle grinned, wriggling his brushy brows that made Jessica giggle.

"And a wig wag!" Her grandfather finished, leaning down to look her in the eye, "What is it?"

"A cow," Jessica replied smoothly, taking a bite of her cake.

"Ah, a smart one, have we," the sixth gentleman, Mr. Ruvie, said beside her. It was the fourth riddle she solved that afternoon and with the sternest expression over the rim of his round glasses, he followed up, "How about this one: I was abandoned by my mother and father. I wasn't yet breathing. A kind woman covered me with clothes, kept me and looked after me, cuddled me as close as if I had been her own child. Under that covering I grew and grew. I was unkind to my adopted brothers and sisters. This lovely woman fed me until I was big enough to set out on my own. She had fewer of her own dear sons and daughters because she did so. What am I?"

The table quieted as they all paused their game to gage the girl's answer. She had taken to English literature and read all of the books on Old English translations in the library that summer. Jessica furrowed her neat brows in concentration. Surely she read this somewhere before…

She chirped out, "It's a bird."

"What kind?"

"Well hold on," Quillish piped in, "How do you know it is a bird?"

Jessica pursed her lips, "Well, if it wasn't yet breathing and had to be covered with warmth, then it was an egg."

"How do you know it was not a lizard or a turtle? Many creatures come from eggs, my dear."

"Yes, sir, but lizard and turtles do not tend their young so when the babies hatch, they fend for themselves. Birds must be taken care of until they are big enough to fly out on their own."

The men smiled in unison.

"Birds are also greedy," Jessica added, as an afterthought, "so I cannot imagine the siblings would be nice to each other."

There was nodding and gentle laughter as the men went back to their game. It was Mr. Ruvie's turn to ante.

"I don't fully understand the last part though," Jessica's voice was small now, as though she was only speaking to the gentleman next to her, "Why would she have fewer sons and daughters by taking care of another?"

He spent his ante and raised his friend before commenting, "Sometimes to care is to sacrifice. Other times, what one might believe is harmless when small may turn out to be a monster in waiting."

The saying struck a cord and it was at this moment that Jessica glanced to the corner of her vision. By this time, the girl had, with hesitance, accepted the presence. It stood in the background as though It was taking in the men's conversations. If she squinted just right, never looking straight on, she could even make out a vague shape. It was tall and thin. It was not black like the shadow she imagined when she was young, and It was not immeasurably tall like she remembered. Still, the top of the figure reached near the ceiling of the sunny porch, the beams of light passing through it like a curtain.

How could no one else know it was there? Even her grandfather refused to acknowledge It standing just behind him, the shadow of the curtain surely brushing against his plaid jacket. It unnerved her, but Jessica had no one to press questions about whatever It was. She never dared asked her grandmother, if her own mother's reactions were any indication. Yet, the little girl could always tell when It was present now, wherever she was – no longer a benevolent feeling washing over her, the thought of visiting her grandfather instead invoked a sense of dread, a weight upon her shoulders pulling her down. Out of sheer frustration once, she yelled at It to go away, only to have her grandmother call into the room moments later wondering what was wrong.

She did not understand. What was Its purpose? Why did It plague her grandfather, a man who had never done anything wrong in his life? Why now was It following her, waiting for her in a window whenever she returned from playing with local friends?

The summer of her twelfth birthday, Jessica refused to go to Switzerland. Her parents were shocked by the announcement and when prompted, the girl flew into a fit and locked herself in her room. She was angry. This thing, this shadow, had come between her and her beloved grandfather by just… by just being! She wanted It gone, but she could not for the life of her figure out how to get rid of It. There was no one who she could talk to who would believe her anyway. For the first time, the girl felt a pang of loneliness that would slowly eat her inside out if she let it.

If she only knew then.

Her grandparents phoned and tried to coax her to visit. Her parents were aghast by their daughter's sudden shift in mood from a carefree, happy child, to one who was constantly distraught and anxious. She refused and refused until one day a family friend came to their home near Wycombe to have a chat.

The elderly gentleman was one of the circle of friends that met in Geneva to play cards. He was a slim man, tall with gray wispy hair and small, round rimless glasses. He smiled kindly down at Jessica and offered a seat.

She had to be polite. She was the granddaughter of a Viscount after all. Shoving all of her obstinacy aside, Jessica curtseyed, "It is a pleasure to see you, Mr. Ruvie."

"Please," he chuckled, "Call me Roger."

She sat on the other side of the older man, the table between them set for afternoon tea. Jessica looked down to her side, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"I have come on behalf of your grandfather-"

"I know," she interjected. "He is unhappy that I have decided not to visit this summer."

Roger smiled, "He is disappointed, but I think he understands."

She looked up suddenly at that.

He continued, "He suggested that perhaps you might want to come stay with me for the summer. I run a school, you see – one that your grandfather is a patron of – and he suggested you might benefit from socializing with others your age."

Jessica clenched her jaw at the accusation. Did her grandfather really think that she thought the old men too stuffy to be around? This was just a phase? She was getting older and uninterested in their stories and jokes? She huffed through her nose in a most unlady-like fashion.

This behavior did not seem to faze Roger, however. His smile broadened as he leaned in to take his tea, speaking as he did so, "You are a very bright girl, I can tell. How are you with your studies?"

She blinked, "I do well enough."

"Do you ever find yourself complacent?"

"Is that what my grandfather tells you? That I'm bored?"

"No, quite the contrary," He took a sip. "He says you are very inquisitive. Read all of his books last summer."

She huffed, "His library is massive; I could not possibly go through all of them."

"Of course not," he placated. The words came across condescending, though, "But you have taken to English literature and history. Why is that?"

The little girl across from him stiffened. A terse smile, not unlike her mother's when she was faced with something that displeased her, crossed her high cheeks such that it forced her thin lips into a line. Positioning herself as graciously as possible for a upper class child having afternoon tea in the shady corner of her parent's estate, her tone was far less charming, "I am sorry, Mr. Ruvie, if I come across as disrespectful, but what exactly is the point of your visit?"

There was a pause with her challenge, Roger visibly considering how he should take it. Jessica remained stoic, ready for a power struggle when he spoke again, "The truth? You have always gone to your grandfather's for the summer, Jessica, whilst your parents travelled abroad."

"So this is their way of getting rid of their belligerent child so they may vacation in the Caribbean?" Pink reached the girls cheek, yet her composure remained, "Please correct me if I am wrong."

"Yes and no," he answered honestly, his tone cajoling. "You were sent to your grandparents so that you may spend time with your family. They are getting on in age; George will not be around forever. But, he also knows you are old enough to need new challenges, new people in your life."

"So, this is not a choice I am being offered, rather a notice of my relocation?"

Roger raised an eyebrow at the blunt response, but pressed on, "Jessica, your grandfather loves you-"

"He loves me so much that he is willing to jail me to a boarding school as punishment for refusing to visit." Her petite hands clutched at her armrests just as new betrayal clutched at her heart. Boarding school was inevitable. Even she knew that she would attend an academy out of primary; probably a highly esteemed one given her family's wealth and her test scores. But she was so young. She wasn't ready to be away from her family yet. She just did not want to face that thing in the corner again! How could he punish her like this?

The elderly man sighed at the girl's reaction, however predictable it may have been to him. With a weary smile, he set his tea aside and motioned to a standing position, all the while allowing the silence to weigh heavily on the child below. He rested a defined hand on her shoulder reassuringly, "You may find this is no ordinary boarding school, no matter how unhappy you are about the circumstances. Yet, you may also find that you prefer this place, even over Switzerland, if you give it a chance."

This was a horrible prospect, Jessica decided. And she was not about to take it like the lady she was being raise to be, no matter her parents' objections over her tantrum that followed Mr. Ruvie's departure or the hasty letter to her grandfather admonishing his treachery in all things that grandparents and grandchildren share. This was utterly unfair, unjustified, uncouth. She hated him for it. She hated that damn shadow for coming in they way of something she loved. _It_ was all she could think of as she slunk down the stairs with her bags in toe, not even bothering to kiss her mother goodbye as she was guided to the car and sent on her way.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Hi! Thanks for continuing to read. This is going to be a long story, so please bear with the character development. I've also written these chapters very quickly, so I haven't had much time to edit typos and such. Apologies. Would love to hear what you think, so review away.

JJJJJ

Chapter 2

The drive to Winchester was quiet, the May sun unusually bright. When they pulled up to the estate, the open green space against the Edwardian architecture was reminiscent of the old black and white photos of their family home in Devon. The stone brick building stood like a fortress, although welcoming enough by sprawling gardens peeking beyond high-brimmed fences around one side and a fountain on the front gravel drive framed by a Dutch gable.

A doorman opened her side of the car and Jessica gingerly stepped out. An easy breeze caught her dress, and she forced the front down on her walk to the main entry. Already people were there to greet her. A plump lady in conservative attire and Mr. Ruvie smiled toward her, likely warding away her returned scowl. There was no way she would be happy here.

"Good afternoon, Miss Lambert." Mr. Ruvie bowed slightly toward the girl, reaching a hand to shake her own, "I trust your journey was safe from Wycombe."

"It was," she replied, her voice clipped. "Thank you."

"This is Miss Roberts," He turned to the heavyset woman, a lady in her mid-thirties or forties, who smiled warmly and bowed at the waste to get a closer look, "She is a caretaker here in the summer and will see to your needs. There are relatively few children here in the summer, you see, so the staff is fairly limited."

Jessica peered around in confusion. This was a boarding house; children should be everywhere. Yet, it was summer. School ended weeks ago and most of the hoard must have left for home thereafter. Her shoulders went rigid at the thought of other children spending time with their parents whilst she was shipped off like inconvenient cargo. This woman would be her babysitter then. The girl curtseyed politely, earning a chuckle from the older woman.

"Well aren't you just a blessing," Miss Roberts mused. Her voice carried a thicker accent, heralding from Leicester or somewhere in the Midlands. Her plum cheeks morphed into a dimpled grin and she stood again to motion inside. "Well, we should tend to your things; get you all settled then."

The entry passed into an extravagant foyer, the tall cream ceiling opening the space considerably. Above her, Jessica peered at a delicate chandelier that cast a warm glow to the space. There were doors on both sides and hallways the extended beyond, seemingly avoiding the grand staircase in the center of it all. Miss Roberts followed the chauffeur with the girl's luggage up the stairs, and the girl jumped when Mr. Ruvie guided her gently forward.

"Do get settled in your room. We can meet down in my office at the end of the hall when you are finished."

Jessica looked in the direction he pointed and then wordlessly climbed the stairs. Giant portraits hung on the walls of people she presumed owned the building through the years. The paintings of the surrounding fields dotted the space and gave the air of hominess she was not quite expecting. Had she not known this was a school, she might have assumed the place someone's home. Cabinets with aged crystal and antiques tastefully lined the hall as she followed the shadows of the housekeeper to a room on the far end. When she pushed open the oak door, Jessica could not help gasping at the sight.

The room was as large as her bedroom back home. On the far side was a bay window overlooking the grounds to the east and the woods beyond. Cream curtains lined the opening, adding to the cheerfulness of the space, and a writing desk faced the landscape. Her bed was plush and neatly made. A dark oak wardrobe was placed on the opposite wall next to a full bookshelf. Jessica ran her fingers along the mantle of the adjoining fireplace and waited patiently for the chauffeur to finishing putting away her things.

"Well, what do you think?" Miss Roberts chimed, her voice as cheery as her face, "Not what you expected, is it."

Jessica knit her brows and glanced at the older woman with a shake of her head, earning a giggle in return. When the chauffeur was finished, Miss Roberts began her practiced speech in earnest.

"Well then, couple of rules. We have a curfew here, no one out of bed after ten o'clock. Breakfast is at seven, lunch at noon, and supper at six. Please, do not pester the cook. Miss Jenny is a very busy woman and does not like little ones in the kitchen. There is a game room, a library with a computer, an open room – which can be used for most other activities – and a sitting room open to you. The western wing, as are the back buildings, is shut for the summer. Please do not enter there. You have free run of the grounds, but you must let one of us know if you plan to go off and play. You may not, under any circumstances, leave the residence without an escort. Let me see…"

The woman pondered over anything she may have missed. Jessica asked, "How many others are here in the summer?"

"Oh!" She raised a forefinger upon remembering, "Yes, there are six students here year round. Only two are here at the moment, however. Mr. Ruvie can explain everything to you regarding them."

Like a whirlwind, the woman gathered herself to leave. She popped back into the room with a final thought on her way out, "Oh yes, and please let me know if you need anything, my dear."

She was away before the girl could say anything. Jessica sat on the bed, taking in the space. Maybe if the summer were quiet, it would not be so bad after all.

It would not be long before Jessica decided to explore. Making her way down the staircase, the girl double backed along the ground floor hallway. She noted there were at least three levels to the wing, though only the first two were accessible from the front entry. She traced the wall on her way, peeking into each room as she went. There indeed was a sitting room with several long couches hovering near a fireplace. A large, flat television hung on the far wall, something quite at odds with the place, as flat screens were relatively expensive for any household. She passed to the next room, equally large and lined with long cherry boxes, likely holding toys and games. The carpeted floor was clean and empty.

From the corner of her eye, she could sense another presence following her as she peered into each space, but the moment she checked back, the specter hid behind a curtain or around a corner away from view.

Great. Another one, she thought. Jessica pushed herself toward the half askance door at the end of the hall. The broad double entry opened silently, save the soft creak of the hinge as one panel stilled. Mr. Ruvie sat at his desk, attending to paperwork on the leather surface. He glanced over his clear-rimmed lenses at the girl and smiled, dropping his pen, "Ah, settled I assume?"

"As can be."

"Hmm," He acquiesced, leaning back in his chair, "Well, you shant be alone, Miss Lambert, I promise. There is quite an assemble of characters here, although most are on a trip to Scotland currently. You can forgive their absence. Welcome to Whammy's."

The name rang a bell in the abstract of her mind. She perked up, "You mean Mr. Whammy? From the card games last summer?"

"Yes, the very one. I run the boarding school here, whilst he runs the orphanage."

"This is an orphanage…" Jessica's voice trailed off, her expression a mix of confusion and what one might mistake as disgust.

The older man chuckled, "It is, in part. But not one the likes of your class would so humor your time in. Whammy House is a special place for special children. The secondary private school associated with us is The Best in the United Kingdom. All of the children here attend Oxford, Cambridge, or travel abroad for their interests. They are themselves lucky, in fact, to count themselves among a Whammy Child."

His explanation came off as defensive, so Jessica quieted herself, blanking her expression to something more humbled. She took a seat across from him, and it felt a bit like she was at the headmaster's office, if she were one to misbehave.

Mr. Ruvie sighed through his nose and eased his disposition, "You will find the children here are quite amicable, if you let them be. We have six staying with us. There is Andrew, or A as we sometimes call him. And then Ben – but he never answers to that name – rather BB or just B. They are here now in the House."

"Why are they not with the others?" She felt foolish for asking.

"Well, neither is particularly keen to leave the House. A came down with a fever last week, so we thought best to keep him back. And BB…" he paused, "Well, BB is quite shy."

"Ah."

Silence fell across them before Mr. Ruvie's voice picked back up, "There is also Catelin with a C, Krista, or K, Zachary, Z, and of course Lawliet, or as he is affectionately called, L."

It was Jessica's turn to chuckle, "So will my name be J then?"

"No," Mr. Ruvie's expression was stern, although his voice was kind, "Your name will be Jessica."

She made a silent 'oh' with her mouth and mumbled her reply, "What is with all the acronyms?"

"To be honest, it is just easier to refer to them as such. Still, these are names they have chosen, so I expect it to have more meaning to them than anyone else."

His explanation was unsatisfactory, but she found herself unwilling to question the man. The girl peered around the office, at the bookshelves filled with cloth and leather binders alike, to the fire mantle lined with insects framed in wooden boxes and wooden ship models, out the window to the green expanse beyond. A click of a wall clock echoed. Jessica felt the need to move, but was unwilling to push her rapport with the headmaster across from her. But, Mr. Ruvie seemed to get the hint on his own and motioned to stand.

"Why don't we introduce you to A, shall we?"

He held a hand out in the direction she was to lead. Down the hall and to the right, the second room she only glanced into to find no one there. As they entered to the double entry, to the right sat a boy.

"Andrew," Mr. Ruvie called his attention and the boy turned his pale face toward them. A light blonde mop, clipped just at his ears, paired with a narrow face, made narrower by the frame of his plastic eyeglasses slipping precariously down his nose. With a petite hand, covered in an oversized sweater, he pushed the rim back up to his forehead, a meek smile exposing tiny white teeth. He stood and walked over to them in the center of the room.

"Andrew, this is Jessica," The older man introduced the pair with a swing of his wrist. "She will be staying with us for the summer. Does that not sound fun?"

The boy was no older than eight or nine, but there was a glint in his eye that Jessica could not place. He spoke softly, politely, "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Where is BB?" The older man questioned.

"I'm sure he is around somewhere, Roger." The boy peeked up through his bangs and grinned, "I think he is looking for monsters."

"Of course he is. You will show her around then, yes?"

"Of course."

The gentleman smiled in earnest, patting the youngster on the head, "I will leave you too it."

Jessica whipped around as he was leaving, but was caught when the boy started to talk, his voice thick with a Kent accent, "You want to see something?"

She pondered her reply, "What do you want to show me?"

"It is over here," he meandered back to the table he sat at. Jessica swore she did not see the table when she initially looked over the room. Carefully, he selected an object in the center and held it with reverence on thin fingertips. The multi-colored object was a piece origami, a series of folded squares, hollow in the center, forming a sphere of sorts. He held it out to her and Jessica had no option but to take it.

"What is it?" She could not hide the awe at its craftsmanship. The edges were neat and perfect, each edge merging into the next piece of paper with machinelike precision. Jessica carefully rotated the object, looking through the opening in the center.

"It's a rhomb-icosi-dodecahedron." The boy said it with such certainty that Jessica paused her inspection to face him again. A grin covered his face from ear to ear.

"A what?" She stumbled.

"A rhomb-icosi-dodecahedron," Andrew walked back to the table and picked up another object. A spiral made of popsicle sticks and papier-mâché, "And this is a Helicoid. If you spin it, this is its derivative." The object appeared to fold in on itself and the girl squinted to see where one end connected to the other.

"You made these," she ventured.

"Of course!" he exclaimed in his tiny voice, an amused expression hovering over his smile as though it was obvious, "Mathematics is one of two universal languages."

She asked automatically. Maths were never her strong subject, "What is the other?"

A looked back from the table and chirped, "Vibration, sound, although that is just another expression of maths, as it were. Have you ever heard of string theory?"

She shook her head, dumbfounded. And so started an afternoon of equations and one-sided discussion from the small boy to the small girl in the quiet room meant to entertain children. The boy's voice was soft, soft as his features as he occasionally pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He wove a story of the universe that was all together terrifying as it was enchanting, in his childlike way, expressing to her this knowledge as though it was sanctity in its revelation. Jessica sat like a parishioner, simply listening to the sermon like she would some yarn her grandfather told her. The boy was charming enough, taking his time to break down his thoughts into drawings, his language as innocently as their ages. The world vibrated, he said, in tune with everything. The very fabric of their existence relied on the smallest components of their being. They were all connected. Was it not wonderful?

She had no idea how much time had passed when a bump behind her distracted her concentration on the blonde boy.

"Oh, BB has come!" A brightened from his position at the table, several papers surrounding him with equations and drawings scrawled across them in neat handwriting.

Jessica turned to the doorway in time to see a mane of dark hair jerk behind it. Perhaps this was the specter she spotted earlier stalking her.

"It's ok," A encouraged, "She's nice."

Slowly one eye and then another emerged at the hinge. Owl-like eyes penetrated the room, round and wide as though he might bolt at any indication of movement. The set were paired with a triangular face, high cheeks and narrow jawline, mouth slack in a kind of wonder that set Jessica on edge. BB was not like Andrew.

"This is Jessica. She is staying with us for the summer," Andrew offered.

"I know," the boy breathed, his voice hushed. A smile flashed across him, but it did not reach his eyes, "She's not one of us."

The observation was unnerving, and it was this moment that Jessica noticed his eyes. Both eyes were dark and odd. Almost red, if she dared to keep looking at them. Glancing back at A, his blue eyes contrasted sharply with the other boy. BB blinked and stared on, his naked feet fidgeting in the doorway.

"No," Andrew acquiesced, "But she's nice. Come over."

"No."

"I won't bite you, I promise." Jessica tried her hand, but the offer only caused the boy to jerk back behind the hinge.

A shook his head, explaining, "He is very literal, you must understand."

"I didn't mean anything by it," the girl grumbled, turning back to the table.

"I know. BB, she's nice. I've been telling her about maths and she seems to get it. Maybe you could show her a puzzle or something."

"Mr. Ruvie tells me there are others away on a trip," Jessica changed subject.

Andrew redirected to her and nodded, "They are visiting Edinburgh for history lessons and time away."

"Are you sad were unable to attend?"

"Not really. I have work to do, and besides, who will spend time with BB?" A grinned kindly and motioned back to the doorway where inquisitive eyes penetrated.

"Is there something wrong with him?" Her voice dipped to a conspiratorial level.

A searched her eyes for meaning before he caught on, "Oh, no. He's very shy, is all. And detached, but that's just how he is. He'll grow on you the longer you stay, you shall see."

Jessica peered back over her shoulder to see that the boy had already moved away from the doorway to the large bay window on the other side of the room. Crouching upon the sill like some bird of prey, he surveyed the pair across from him. His clothing oversized and slack against what must be a thin frame, he appeared like a folded scarecrow from her vantage.

"What do you like?" Jessica returned to the boy at the table. A grabbed a book off the shelf whilst she was distract and was half-glancing her way as he spoke, "You know, whilst you are at your grandfarther's."

"How do you know about my grandfather?" her voice was accusing in her shock.

A sat up like a small mammal caught in surprise, his mouth screwing shut over his teeth in guilt. Slowly, he spoke again, "I overheard a conversation that you were coming here instead your normal visit to Europe." He turned a bit pink in afterthought, looking back into his book, "I'm sorry to pry."

Jessica sighed. This was not his fault she was here. He was already being quite kind in his offer to show her all his toys and interests too, as odd as they were. BB sat quiet and still as a statue, the light casting him in shadow except for the dimness of his stare. Calmly, she placed her small hands in her small lap and considered herself amongst the pair as she spoke, "I enjoy reading."

The reply got a reaction both children, A being the first to break into a smile, "That's wonderful! I can show you the library, if you would like."

"That would be nice." Jessica smiled for the first time in earnest, as the blonde jumped from his seat and ushered her to the door.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Hi! Thanks for continuing to read. This is going to be a long story, so please bear with the character development. I've also written these chapters very quickly, so I haven't had much time to edit typos and such. Apologies. Would love to hear what you think, so review away.

JJJJJ

Chapter 3

The front entry burst open with new life. Laughter and the echoes of children filtered up the grand staircase, down the long hallway, and into the last room on the left. Jessica looked up from her book and then to the window curiously. The others must have finally returned.

The field excursion was to last two weeks in Scotland, the children visiting the west coast and major cities. They were to see castles and lochs and munros, learn the proper history of the Scot-England conflict lasting hundreds of years, and eat local delicacies the set of youngsters probably turned their collective nose at. The girl smiled briefly when she peered out of the bay window onto the gravel driveway below. Mr. Whammy was exiting the car, seemingly delegating the collection of luggage abandoned by his charges. Miss Roberts was out to greet him, her cheery face bobbing up and down in conversation with the old man. Jessica pulled back from the window as the clacking of shoes trailed into the hallway. Doors banged and loud chatter filled the air.

The past ten days was quiet in the house. Andrew and BB were off doing other things, leaving the girl alone to idle in the library, which on its own was immense. The space was even bigger than her grandfather's it seemed, and she immediately delved into the selection placed on her bookshelf in her bedroom. English authors from Victorian Era to the Renaissance – classics from Dickens to Shakespeare among lesser known entities – flittered across her fingers as she perused which novel she might start with this year. There was surely plenty to occupy Jessica's time for the entire summer, if she was content enough.

But stories were only a past time, as were the walks she would take in the garden when the weather permitted. Already, the summer was warm and dry, drier than expected this time of year. She missed her friends in Switzerland, with whom she would play silly games, scare boys, and idly gossip. She missed her grandmother's cookies and the rounds of poker surrounding by old gentlemen. She missed her grandfather most of all. That thought alone reminded her of the foreboding shadow, and a renewed anger surfaced. If she only just consented to the visit, then she would be there and not here, alone, in a large house with two strange boys.

Andrew was polite though and cute. He would greet her in the morning at breakfast with a fixed smile that made his blue eyes sparkle and altogether seemed a bit too mature for his age. The greeting, at first, made Jessica blush furiously, as a boy had never formally received her before, let alone pulled a chair out for her. He kept their conversation simple after the dissertation the first day they met, and instead they played cards and built puzzles when he was ready for a break. A break from what, Jessica wondered, but the boy was rather elusive on the subject, shutting himself up in his room during the afternoons.

BB was a different kettle of fish. Quiet and shy, he traversed the halls silently, spying on everything and nothing all at once. He generally had nothing to say outside of observations murmured aloud, more for himself than anyone else. He usually spent his time hunched over complex games, positioning himself like an owl surveying his domain. He had a penchant for jam, Jessica observed, and would always have a spread with crackers for lunch. He must be younger than Andrew, she surmised, for all of his childlike behavior that seemed at odds with the budding wisdom emanating from the other child. But that also meant he was extremely smart, given how quickly and easily he solved three dimensional brain teasers, or when he keenly observed Mr. Ruvie in an error from the doorway. The attention made him smile, but also chased him away.

One day, Jessica was alone in the sitting room bored and lonely. It had only been her fifth day, and she could already feel the regret tug at her heartstrings. Around her neck was an oval golden locket gifted on her fifth birthday. It was the one piece of jewelry she was allowed to always wear, for the inside of the pendant held pictures of her grandparents, forever there to look after her. She opened it, stroking the edge fondly when a shadow loomed over her shoulder.

Jessica glanced back in surprise to find BB staring at the pendant, his eyes wild behind his tousled dark bangs. On such close inspection, she could see the ruby tint against the rim of his otherwise black irises, seemingly made purer by the pristine white of his eyes. He adjusted himself, a frown etching his delicate, thin lips.

"BB, what ar-"

"He is going to die very soon."

All sound lodged in her throat as Jessica gaped back at the boy. He smelled of laundry detergent and baby powder, his babyish expression completely oblivious to his surroundings. BB sat back on his haunches to gander out the window as though nothing was ever said, as though the statement was yet another observation only meant for his ears.

"How could you say such a terrible thing?" She managed, a thick lump forming in the space that was just blocked. The boy glanced her way unsure, his fingers tugging at the seams of his trousers. Jessica's brows knit together, anger seeping into her words, "Didn't your parents teach you any manners?!"

His eyes widened just a fraction, and BB removed himself from the windowsill in silence. Instantly, Jessica realized her mistake, and she whirled around before he reached the door.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean it that way, BB."

But it was too late, his frame clipping the door panel on his way out. The shy boy was never in the same room alone with her again for the following week.

Jessica felt the need to climb down from her private quarters and meet the others she has heard so little about, aside from their names. Miss Roberts passed her in the hallway and smiled broadly, "Do be a dear and head downstairs. Mr. Whammy is there to meet you."

She nodded and trotted down the stairs, hooked a right and headed back up toward Mr. Ruvie's office.

"Hello, Miss Lambert," Mr. Whammy grinned from his place beside the large, oak desk. His puffy, oval face was hidden in part by a pair of spectacles and a white bushy mustache. He bent slightly toward the girl, "I am pleased you chose to come for the summer."

She returned the smile and shook his hand lightly, her disposition better than she first arrived, "Thank you for having me, Sir."

He ushered her back to the hallway, "I assume you are settled? I spoke with your grandfather last month. He seems well."

Jessica nodded as they turned in the doorway to the sitting room, a group of children already waiting for them.

"Ah, here we are," Mr. Whammy began warmly, "Everyone, this is Jessica. She will be our special guest, so I expect each and every one of you to treat her well during her stay."

Before her were three children seated on the couch facing them, all considerably older. The two girls sat side by side in identical dresses, save the color – one was blue and the other was green. The girls themselves wore ponytails, but that was where the similarities ended. The girl in green was tall and dark-skinned, her pearly teeth gleaming with her smile. The girl in blue, smaller in stature and white as snow, pursed her lips as though in thought, her eyes narrowed on the youngster in front of her. To their left sat a blonde boy, lanky from a teenage growth spurt, acknowledging in her with a smirk.

"C, where is L?"

The girl in blue redirected her attention to Mr. Whammy, keeping her eye contact with Jessica intact, "He is in the game room."

The old man hummed in knowledge and dismissed the teens, taking Jessica's hand in retreat. He looked down to her, "There are two sets of children here as I am sure you have already noticed. Those three," he motioned back to the sitting room "are near completing their stay, and the other three are just starting their journey."

"How long have they been here?" her question was innocent.

Mr. Whammy paused at the open door to the game room and smiled, "Depends on the child. C and K started here during secondary, whilst Z was a little younger. You could say he was the first in this program. They are like siblings, very close, you see. As are the youngsters."

He ushered Jessica into the quiet room. Under the bay window sat two dark-haired boys, one she already knew. BB glanced from his position curled over the shoulder of the other. Both wore the same clothing, overlying large white shirts on dark slacks, and were huddled in similar crouched stances over a puzzle of some kind. BB blinked his large round eyes and turned back, whispering something in the other boy's ear. Slowly, the other boy turned his attention toward the entry, his expression wide-eyed but not as nervous as his twin.

"L, I would like to introduce you to Jessica. She will be staying with us-"

"-for the summer, I know," he quietly finished. With a reassuring pat on BB's shoulder, he motioned to stand and made his way over to the pair. The child's black hair was wildly unkempt, falling into his dark eyes. His face was delicate, but eerily blank as he took the older girl before him in.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Jessica stuck her hand out in effort to ease the awkwardness. The boy looked at her hand and then into her eyes again as though he was unsure what to do.

Mr. Whammy seemed to know, however, and leaned over with a comforting tone, "Remember what we talked about?"

L peered up through his bangs and subtly sighed through his nose, barely taking her hand the moment necessary before releasing it again. He stepped back to resume his game, but stopped when the old man cleared his throat expectantly.

The boy swallowed and muttered, refocusing on the girl before him, "Pleasure is all mine."

The air in the room was thick from the forced introduction, and the pressure was suffocating to Jessica. In the background, she caught the other boy cautiously watching their exchange from the bay window, and suddenly it made sense. Coaxing all of the charm she possessed, she chirped, "Are you two brothers?"

L cocked his head to the side slowly, his fine brow furrowing just slightly, "Who?"

"You and BB." She chuckled and pointed behind him, "You two look so much alike."

"No."

"B has taken a liking to L as of late," Mr. Whammy interjected as though the situation was obvious and normal for the child. "He tends to imitate the things he enjoys."

"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery," L added flatly. He was already returning to his game. The brainteaser must have been new, as Jessica never saw it before among all of the others toys BB usually coveted. Both boys recaptured their attention on the object as though they were alone again, pointedly ignoring the pair left as ghosts in the doorway.

This was Jessica's introduction to the Whammy orphanage, an institute that Mr. Ruvie had, quite poignantly, touted as being The Best secondary/boarding school in England. It was all a little to strange for the girl, seemingly caught in age between budding adults and youths barely into primary. As she passed the sitting room again, she heard the giggles and quiet conversation between the older teens that sounded almost like another language to her. The older boy glanced at the doorway and gave her a wink as she passed. The dialogue dimmed as Krista peeked over the side of the couch and smiled. The silent offer would have been inviting if Catelin's icy stare not immediately sent Jessica on her way toward the main stairway.

How was she supposed to connect with any of them? She was clearly causing disorder by her mere presence. Her heart sank little by little as she returned to her room and sat on her bed. She should have just gone to Switzerland, she admonished to herself. She was going to write and apologize to her grandfather. Maybe he would let her finish out her summer, if she asked politely enough, and then all could be right with the world again.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Hi! Thanks for continuing to read. This is going to be a long story, so please bear with the character development. I've also written these chapters very quickly, so I haven't had much time to edit typos and such. Apologies. Would love to hear what you think, so review away.

JJJJJ

Chapter 4

There was a phone call. It came early in the morning before most of the staff was awake, but for some reason, Jessica awoke to the ringing from Mr. Ruvie's office below her. The sound stopped. She could here murmuring filtering through the floor, lulling her back to sleep. Sighing, the girl nuzzled into her comforter.

Three weeks passed since everyone came home. The weather turned with their return, and the house residents spent their time indoors segregated according their personal interests.

The teenagers spent most of their time in the sitting room or the activity room on the second floor. For example, Krista was a dancer and spent a fair amount of time practicing routines for an audition with the Royal Academy of Dance in London at the end of the summer. She was already accepted into the London School of Economics to study international law. She quipped that she wanted to go to Oxford because their curriculum was better, but her 'hobby' would ultimately force her back to London anyway, and she would not need to divide her attention as much in the school she settled for. She originated from Uganda and came to the UK when she was four. Her parents were diplomats, so she was used to living abroad, but after they died several years later, she was left with nowhere to go except for a third world nation that seemed foreign to her after all these years. Somehow, either through careful planning between her parents' friends or by luck, she ended up at Whammy's. Jessica enjoyed listening to Krista talk. She was beautiful and vibrant and obviously took the good fortune with grace. Her intelligence seemed overshadowed by her personality, always laughing, always smiling.

Catelin was the youngest of the three. At sixteen, she was already attending University courses via a personal tutor that visited the House four days a week. She was very focused and used the sitting room as her personal library whenever she wanted. Unlike Krista, she was shrewd with her time and energy, certainly above wasting it chatting with the temporary visitor. From what Jessica could gather, her focus was on the environmental sciences and science policy, as the tutor was a professor from a local university and an old colleague of Mr. Ruvie's. Occasionally the girl overheard the older men rehashing old times over afternoon tea.

Then there was Zachary. Like Krista, he was planning to attend university in the fall for a medical degree. Jessica wondered if he had already started taking the necessary prerequisite courses like Catelin. He lived at Whammy's the longest, although it was clear from speaking with him that he was not from the UK.

"I'm American," he affirmed through his fork at breakfast. His accent was slight and muffled by his years living abroad, and if he really wanted to, he could pull off a proper voice, usually to mock Mr. Ruvie when he wasn't in earshot. He was born in New York and was flown to the UK right after his parents died. He did not say how his parent perished or when or why he was chosen to leave the states, but he mentioned a test to get into this orphanage like it was a grand privilege. The exam was similar to the one all of the children who attended the adjacent boarding school took; only theirs was actually hard, or so he said.

"What sort of test?" Jessica asked.

"Sort of like A levels, but more analytical and on a wide set of topics," Krista chimed in, "You take it right before you come in so they know where to put you for classes, gage your potential interests… you know, fit-for-purpose education."

"And all of you have taken it? Even the little ones," the girl motioned her side where Andrew, BB, and at the very end L sat. The three boys snapped over from their quiet meal at the mention of them.

"Of course," Zachary replied, smiling and leaning forward in a whisper, "If you can believe it, the highest score – and I mean blown out of the water – anyone has ever received was our little Lawliet over there. Good find, that one."

Jessica peered over to where the boy was sitting, well crouching really. As soon as he heard his name, he lost interest and was back to fiddling with his toast. His sharp profile was partially hidden by the shaggy mass of black hair, revealing only his jaw and thin lips pressed into a blank line.

"Where would you have gone if your score wasn't high enough?"

Zachary shrugged, nudging Andrew on the shoulder fondly, "Probably another Whammy institution. They are all over Briton and Europe. That's what he's know for, anyway."

"My grandfather is a patron of education and knows Mr. Whammy personally," Jessica offered.

From her left, Catelin scoffed, "Is that why you're here, then?"

The new tension carried silence with it and the conversation effectively died. Jessica was sure to avoid Catelin's attention when she could after that and ultimately found herself in the library. No one was ever there, and the girl wondered if the lack of use was due to the time of year, or if the library even suited the students at all.

Andrew still spoke to her, frequently popping into the quiet room to say hello and play a game of chess in the mornings. BB and L took over the game room on most days, whilst A quietly worked in his room on a project he still was not willing to tell her about. The three seemed so separate relative to the older children, who would goof off in the afternoons like most normal teens their age.

Jessica was at odds with how the younger three behaved. Andrew was well adjusted, at least on the surface, and polite. BB was a ghost, frightened of everything. And Lawliet was simply passive. Bored almost. She never saw them interact openly, except when BB was nervously trying to talk to Lawliet about something, whispering in his ear. Their communication was mostly nonverbal; a mutual understanding, some kind of common knowledge, that created an atmosphere so quiet in the playroom, it terrified the girl. She would rather risk the icy glare from Catelin than sit with the eerie doppelgangers.

This morning would prove no different, she thought, as she finally managed to drag herself from her covers, secretly counting down the days until the end of the summer. Just as she promised herself, Jessica wrote the apology letter to her grandparents hoping they would reclaim her with open arms. But that had been two weeks ago and no return mail was in the registry. Perhaps this was her punishment for being so insolent. Put her in a room of self-proclaimed geniuses to humble her into submission.

Jessica leisurely ambled to breakfast. The dining hall was once a formal dining room on the eastern wing of the great house. She suspected the boarding house conditions in the west wing must be similar. A long mahogany table was centered below several simple chandeliers, of which the six children and three adults (Mr. Whammy, Mr. Ruvie, and Miss Roberts) occupied only half. Jessica was placed between the two groups of children, sitting across from Zachary and Andrew. They were quite chummy, the most talkative at least, so she did not much mind.

All of the children beat her to breakfast, and awkwardly the girl positioned herself in front of her empty place. Like magic, Miss Jenny appeared with a glass of milk before disappearing again for her meal.

"Miss Lambert," Jessica turned to see Mr. Ruvie standing in the entry. His stern expression ever present, he licked his lips and gruffly spoke, "I need to speak with you."

"I told you," BB muttered to his bowl of oat porridge mixed with grape jelly instead of honey or milk. The girl jerked to the boy before fumbling out of her seat. A sense of dread washed over her at his words, and she approached the elder with some hesitation, the entirety of the group watching her leave.

Mr. Ruvie took her down the hall to his office. Shutting the door, he wavered before breaking the silence, "I have some news about your grandfather."

_No_. The tone of his voice was a warning. No – this could not possibly be what she was about to hear. Jessica had not yet managed to sit in the chair in front of her before she turned her head wide-eyed, tears stinging at the edges, to the older gentleman. His expression, sadness he veiled in the dining room only now shown privately, said all he needed to say. Her heart began to sprint, and she let the tears fall.

"I am so sorry."

The following days were a blur, of which Jessica was simply luggage moved from one place to another. She packed her things and hopped on a plane to meet her parents in Geneva. Mr. Ruvie, and later Mr. Whammy, joined her as close family friends of the deceased. Once there, the funeral service scheduled for the following morning. No cheery hellos, no warm hugs. Her mother was devastated and too occupied with her own shock to even notice her daughter's arrival.

As the granddaughter, and only young child, of the Lambert household, Jessica felt utterly alone in the reading room she used to play in all those summers ago. Her tea set still sat on the shelf where her grandmother stored it. Her favorite books lined a cupboard near the window. There were so many happy memories she could not bear to bring forward in her sorrow.

Her last words to him by letter were angry. Had he even received the apology? Guilt consumed her as she sobbed into her dress. She should not have been so defiant! She should have been here with him in his final days. But that had been taken from her because she was behaving like a spoiled brat. And now, she would do anything to have her grandfather back. Anything! Shadows and old ghosts be damned!

The service was grand. St. Pierre Cathedral was used and it seemed half of Europe was in attendance. His passing made the news circuit and heralded condolences from diplomats, politicians, military veterans, farmers and countrymen alike. Even a comment from the Royal Family was published. Everyone had a story to tell of the old man who followed in his father's footsteps and went on to improve countless of his countrymen's lives in doing so. He was an inspiration. A mentor. A loving husband and father. A good man.

There was a private wake afterwards, although Jessica was not allowed to be present for it. As a child, her position was to sit in the front pew and look sad. No words were necessary, not that she had much to say. Only that she was sorry, and she wished things could have been different. Everything was going to change now, and she was scared.

For several days, there was a deathly silence to the house. A lawyer came around to discuss the will. Several close friends stayed nearby for support, and Jessica avoided all of them. A few of her friends even stopped by for tea, asking where she had been, but the moment the innocent question was uttered, the girl broke down and ended the visit.

It was too much. It was all too much. And when her mother called her into the front room nearly a week after her arrival, what she said was the final straw that broke the camel's back.

"Roger and Quillish have agreed to take you back to England with them for remainder of the summer whilst we settle these affairs." Her mother motioned kindly to the gentlemen at her side. Mr. Ruvie and Mr. Whammy solemnly looked on with compassionate nods.

"No!" Jessica cried through newly shed tears, "I want to stay here!"

"That is not an option, dear," her mother rebuked as softly as she could, her hand reaching out for her daughter's.

Jessica pulled away, her hazel eyes wild, her delicate lips pulled back into a quivering sneer, "It's not fair!"

"Jessica-"

"It's not fair!"

She ran from them, intent to hole herself in her room until the end of time. The betrayal gutted her at the notion that her parents would send away again rather than keep her close, comfort her, _support_ her. She lost the most important figure in her life, and all they could think about were their stupid 'affairs.' _Stuff their affairs_, she screamed into her pillow.

There was a soft knock at the door. Jessica wailed into her pillow some more, kicking at her bedspread in a distraught panic. The door was locked and the knock came again, this time with a muffled voice.

"Go away!" She screamed, throwing her cushion at the door and flouncing back down onto the bed.

"Jessica Lambert, you open this door, right now!"

She recognized the faint voice of her grandmother calling her to attention. Stiffly, the girl sat up, wiping at her flushed face. It was one thing throw a tantrum with her mother. It was another to disobey her grandmother. But she was angry and betrayed. She was in no mood to be dragged out for her behavior now. Slowly, she approached the door and opened it, her sad, sad eyes making their way up to meet her elder's face. The old woman looked pitifully on, holding her arms out, and Jessica threw herself into them.

Patsy held her granddaughter for some time, sitting on the edge of her bed, stroking her hair and letting the girl cry out all of her anguish. She listened as the girl squeaked out her apology for refusing to visit, affirming that her husband had, in fact, received both the angry letter and, later, the letter that begged forgiveness for all that she said. She confirmed that George would never have held her words against her, that he loved her with all of heart, and that his passing was quiet and peaceful. It was simply his time. People die. She would eventually die. It was way of things, but her granddaughter's pain would pass as it would with any event that struck the heart so hard and so suddenly.

Jessica wanted to believe what she said was hollow, but the consoling strokes on her hair paired with soft, unassuming words ejected such negative thoughts from her mind. When she was finally calm, the older woman informed her of the real reason for her visit.

"I have something for you."

The girl looked up as the old woman sifted a key from her cardigan pocket and handed it to her. The small key went to a filing cabinet or lockbox and was attached to a long chain.

"Your grandfather always wore this key with his military tags when he was alive," Patsy began. She moistened her lips before continuing, "He made me promise to give it to you after he died."

"Where does it go to?"

"There is a cabinet in his office. I have never touched it – he was very protective of it, you see – but I'm sure whatever is inside was meant for you, and you only."

Jessica took the key and its chain timidly and with a sense of surprised awe that she could not shake from her face. She left her grandmother sitting on her bed in search of her grandfather's office. Closing the door once inside, she inhaled. The room smelled of old pipe tobacco and paper and ink. Hints of leather and spice she never could place. Everything in the room was still untouched, as though he could walk in at any moment. He would probably smile at her and tell her in a fake grumpy manner that she was intruding on his secret place. The thought alone brought a brief grin before she wiped another tear flourishing down her cheek. Her brunette hair had long fallen out of its braid and she tucked the offending strands back behind her ear.

Searching the gigantic bookcase that covered one side of the room, she spotted a small cabinet near the floor in the corner. The wood was old and well worn, likely moved many times over the years, and Jessica had to get on her knees and lean down to fully access it. Wiping her hands on her dress, she grabbed the key and gingerly pushed it into the lock, turning it with a click. The hinges creaked as the cabinet opened.

The space was too low for her to see what was inside, so she reached in and grabbed at a parcel, pulling it out slowly. Several items slumped onto the floor: a pocket watch, several gold coins, a sealed letter, and a thick envelope. She idly picked at the watch and coins, noting that they must have both been very old, older than her grandfather at least. But then she set them side for the letter. The envelope cover had '_For Jessica_' written in elaborate script, and she carefully opened the seal to reveal a folded sheet of thick parchment. Flipping it open, the message was short and simple.

_Dear Jessica, I am so very sorry._

She was stunned, confused. What did he mean by that? What could he possibly be sorry for? Finally, she looked at the larger envelope. The manila was aged and faded, the package held together with shipping string. Crawling up to the desk, she managed to find a set of scissors and reclaimed her position on the floor, clipping the cord and opening the package.

A black book slid into her grip. It was slightly smaller than a typical journal, thick and bound by what she assumed was a leather. There was nothing on the either cover, and she opened the aged front panel, cringing as the binding snapped from disuse. She expected dust or something, but the pages were pristine. Crisp even. The book must have been old, though, for when she saw the first page, it had a list of names with dates next to them, the first one marked at seventeen-eighteen.

"Is this a register?" She wondered aloud. The room echoed and she glanced up to the bookshelf. A chill crept up her spine, now suddenly too cold in the room. But the sun was out. It was shining into the office even.

A noise came from behind her, and it was then that the girl noticed a shadow loom over her. She thought of the specter that always followed her grandfather, and for a moment, her heart stopped out of fear.

"Who is there?"

Nothing came back, but the dark, cold shiver would not leave her. Jessica closed her eyes and slowly shifted toward the door.

"I said, who is there?" She repeated, but there was again no answer. Biting her lip, she opened her eyes and subtly gasped in horror.

Before her was a man. No, a creature. This was not human; she knew that for sure. Tall and thin and the darkest of gray in color, the figure stood nearly to ceiling. Red, penetrating eyes nailed her to the floor, no breath could escape her. Teeth, so many teeth, covered its mandible in an expressionless maw. Skeletal was a word for it. Terrifying was what it was. Two gangly arms and two spindly legs motioned forward, its stride easily crossing the room in a single step as the creature, the thing leaned down to greet her. There was no room to scream. There was nothing she could do except quake, her grip on the book tightening.

"At last, we finally meet," It spoke. The sound was gravelly, low and did not match any movement from its emaciated face. The sound was entirely in her head, so loud and so, so terrifying, it hurt. Dropping the book, Jessica ran fingers to her ears, new tears falling unbidden. The creature paused and leaned in further still before finishing its thought, "You may call me Syn."


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Hi! Thanks for continuing to read. This is going to be a long story, so please bear with the character development. I've also written these chapters very quickly, so I haven't had much time to edit typos and such. Apologies. Would love to hear what you think, so review away. I'm American who has lived for some time in the UK, but my dialogue patterns may not be up to snuff. Please, if you're Brit, feel free to correct or smooth out sayings as they come up.

By the by, I imagine Syn as a cross from the bunny in Donny Darko and the Mothman. Kind of scary to think about. Bleh.

Happy Reading!

JJJJJ

Chapter 5

The scream broke through the office door, down the hall, out the front entry and into the gardens surrounding the estate. Jessica thought she was going to die, and only when she was well and truly out of breath, did the shriek reduce itself to a faint whistle. The creature instantly vanished, quickly followed by pounding of footsteps down the hall, people bounding into the office, voices asking, demanding what as wrong and why she was crying.

The girl said nothing, shaking like a leaf where she sat on the carpeted floor, hands coming down to clutch the book, letter and objects before collecting herself again. For all of her trauma, she could not bring herself to utter what it was she saw, instead leaving the office stiffly and everyone concerned behind. Wordlessly, she went to her room, closed the door, laid down on her bed and fell asleep. She slept through the rest of the day and into the night. It was only when her mother came to fetch her herself that Jessica came down for breakfast the next morning in time for her flight.

The trip back to England was a dream to her. All she could see, all she could think about was of the monster and Its voice in her head. Was this the shadow that followed her grandfather for so long? Was this the ghost that watched her from the corners of the room, the guardian she willed herself to believe in? She was convinced those red eyes would be seared into her retinas until the day she died. She hid the book in her satchel for her journey, kissed her mother and father goodbye and returned to the boarding house she never wanted to attend without complaint. The farewell was unsettling to her parents, who asked again if everything was fine before she departed.

The truth was, nothing was fine and would never be. Her guide was gone. Her grandfather was a constant pillar in her life where her parents were so often absent. He was her pen pal, her storyteller, her monster hunter, her chaperone, her protector. Through him, she met all sorts of wonderful people and learned so much about the world beyond the sheltered walls of her home. He made her want to explore and ask questions about everything; his answers, even if he did not know, were rewarded with more inquisitive notions that she would then search and read about the first chance she could. Who was going to be her partner in this voyage through childhood now?

The car pulled through the gravel drive before she was ready. The door to her side opened into a humid July summer day.

It was just as it had been at the end of May. The chauffer took her things to the steps where Miss Roberts greeted her. Mr. Ruvie and Mr. Whammy were already in the House, fielding greetings from the children. No one said anything to Jessica as she skulked up the stairs to her room, and she was fine with that. She did not really want anyone near her at the moment as she discarded her satchel on the floor and landed on the bed with a thump. She would stay there forever, if she had to. Until the end of the summer and then she could go home to her real bed and to her real house.

She thought she might have dozed when she could make out shuffling at her side. Turning part way, she immediately scrambled over the other side of the bed as though she was trying to flee from an insect she just noticed landing on her. The shadow was back, and this time, its attention was turned to the floor near her bags. The slim figure was as foreboding as she recalled from her grandfather's office, and she was half tempted to scream, but stopped herself when she realized the creature was not turning around, rather squatting, looking for something. In the dimness of Its skin, she could pick out the long arcs of wing-like appendages curled tightly against its back.

The creature stopped musing and peered over its shoulder. The gaze alone caused her stomach to drop and her voice to lodge in her throat. Suddenly, the book popped onto the bed, the sound of the entity booming within her head.

"You should be more careful with this."

Jessica stared at the book in utter disbelief. Working up the courage to speak was harder than she thought, "Who are you?"

"I am Syn."

She shook her head and asked again, "_What_ are you?"

Syn turned more fully toward her, its head level with hers across the coverlet. In the light filtering behind her, Jessica could make out that the redness of its eyes was glowing. The creature possessed no eyelids.

"I have been called many things," the gravel pitch resounded like static in the hollows of her ears. She cringed a little as it enunciated each word like a monotonous list, "Ankou, Yama, Malak al Maut, Michael and Samael, Yenlo, Santa Muerte, Shinigami."

Jessica sat quiet for a long while, waves of adrenalin pulsing through her, causing her to shake uncontrollably, "I don't know what that means."

"The Angel of Death, the God of Death. It is the same."

"You are God?" Her tone was incredulous.

The creature remained still for a moment, "I am an envoy. A manifestation of a thought."

Her eyes widened. She could not possibly understand, so she asked a more logical question, "Are you going to hurt me?"

"No."

"Why are you here?"

"Because of the Book."

She looked at the black leather binding and thought to reach for it before addressing the creature again, "Is this your book?"

"No."

"But you are here because of it."

It paused, "I am bound to it."

Jessica found the courage to stand, albeit rather flimsily. Syn remained couched on the floor, staring ahead on the coverlet. Hesitantly, the girl reached across and snatched the volume from the bed. She opened the first page and glanced over the list of names before saying, "What is so special about this book?"

The answer was automatic, "The owner of this book has the power to call death upon anyone written on its page."

The girl slowly lowered the cover and stared at the creature. The entity had managed to follow its gaze from the bedspread to her again, and she immediately thought to pull something in front of her. Its face was too frightening to look at head on. Settling for the wardrobe, she probed again, "That sounds ludicrous. Who would create such a thing?"

"A creator watching over its flock."

For a moment, Jessica wondered if there was the smallest hint of acerbity in the answer. She felt like she could vomit, her head was spinning so, "Are you trying to tell me this book was created by God?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

She willed herself to look at the foul thing again. Syn's focus was on the prized object and not her, mercifully, so she closed it and let her hands drop to her waste, still clutching the leather binding tightly. The creature followed her hands, still unmoved on the floor. Mulling over the seriousness of the answer, she chose instead to challenge it, reject it.

"Well, I don't believe you." A steadiness surged forth Jessica did not know she possessed. She pulled the book back up to her chest and made sure she had Syn's attention, "How do I know you are not Satan trying to trick me into using the Book, and thus, trapping my soul?"

"Interesting," the creature pondered. The sound in her head lightened before coming back with a buzz, "You are not the first to ask such a question."

"So, I am not the first you've tried to trick, is that it? Is that why my grandfather had this, because you tricked him?"

"There is no trick."

"Then why did he have it?"

"It was passed to him, just as it was passed to you."

"What do you mean passed to me?"

"Your grandfather gave you that Book. It is now yours as it was his."

Jessica paused to catch her breath, sniffing as the thought of her grandfather passing such a wretched thing to her. Her words were determined, "Well, I don't want it."

Syn was not fazed, "That is not your choice."

"Take it back." She held out the book.

"I cannot."

"I don't want your little trap. Take it and go!"

It made a movement that could be interpreted as a sigh. The creature stood then, causing Jessica to take a reflexive step back until she hit the desk. It raised a single limb, pointing narrow, bony fingers in her direction as the sound in her head resumed, graveling out, "Human, you were trapped from the moment of your birth."

"You're lying." She tossed the object to the ground.

"I do not lie."

"I want you to go away."

Syn tilted its head, telling her, "I cannot leave."

"Go away!" The moment she raised her voice, the apparition evaporated, leaving the girl alone. Jessica's heart was pounding like a jack rabbit caught in a snare, and she quickly backed herself out of the room to find somewhere, anywhere else to be. Nearly running down the stairs, panic of what happened just beginning to surface, it was all she could do to not burst into Mr. Ruvie's office as a dissolved mess. Instead, the girl steeled herself and took to the front door for a walk; anything to get out of the home now so utterly stifling.

JJJJJ

For several days, Jessica was terrified to go into her room. She took the Book and stuffed it deep within one of her drawers, far away from sight. Tentatively, she kept the door open and slept with the light on. Yet, the shadow did not return again, and she wondered by the fourth day if her demand was honored.

But, she could _feel_ the shadow, heavy and just out of view, and thought of the creature caused tremors to wrack her tiny frame. A stale thickness stuck out in the edges of the rooms she frequented, silent, still, watching. She knew it was Syn, this demon she must have summoned by accident, for the parcel was probably never meant to be opened in the first place. Perhaps it was one of those cursed items the radio would spout about around Halloween or in horror movies. The letter left behind in her grandfather's writing was a warning… If only he was still alive to clue her in.

One day, Jessica found herself in the sitting room staring out of the window in thought, willing for her circumstances to be different.

"So," the sound of Catelin's voice made the girl jump out of her skin. The teen held up her hands in defense, a mock expression of fright hovering over her rosy cheeks. She quickly composed herself and sat across from Jessica on the sill, "Mr. Whammy says you are staying for a while, regardless."

Jessica admitted, "Yeah."

The teen hummed lightly, "So do you think you have what it takes?"

"What do you mean?"

"The boarding school," Catelin clarified, smiling sweetly. "It's safe to assume you will end up here for secondary, anyway; what with all your family's wealth, you can just can buy in as patrons."

"You take issue with wealthy people?"

"I take issue with our delicate social system, class and all that."

Jessica furrowed her brow. Was this girl from some poor background? Was that why she was being curt with her all this time?

Catelin waved a fair hand airily, "Well, that is assuming you can pass the test."

She shrugged, shaking her head, "That's years away."

"Oh, not so!" The blond returned matter-of-fact, "There's a wait list."

"What does it matter?"

Her eyes lit with false concern, "You mean you don't desire to be one of the best and brightest? Your parents must be proud."

Jessica grit her teeth and looked back out the window onto the gardens, "I don't rightly desire anything right now seeing as my grandfather just passed away. Some courtesy would be nice."

"Oh please," venom cut into her words, despite her casualness, "At least you have a family. Imagine us having to watch you mope from room to room, skulking around like a shadow's following you."

"I'm not moping!" Jessica contended, jerking back to face the older girl. She could see the smirk forming on the blond's sharp chin.

"Oh of course, not," Catelin nodded in fervent agreement. "What is it, then? Privately mourning."

Jessica wanted to cry out in frustration at the other girl's unspoken words. Who was this girl and why was she being so vicious to her? Catelin sat on the sill, apparently happy with herself as she perused the roses in the garden. The younger could not stand it. She gathered herself, trying to best to hide the seething rage building just beneath her chest, and made her way to the double door.

Just as she was about to turn on the handle, Catelin chimed, "And just think – if you do manage to get in – think of whom you will have to compete with…"

Jessica glared over her shoulder. Catelin turned from her view to finish her thought, "You will never be one of us."

She flew from the room, wound up the stairs, whipped down the hall along the far side, and shoved the door open as hard as she could. The panel boomed against the wall, and again when it shut automatically to echo into the empty space. The library was barren, like always. Jessica let out a stifled scream, plopping down into a chair at the table before her. Her head fell to the wooden top, the cool surface like ice against her burning forehead.

Breathing in and out helped. Catelin was a bully; that was plain and simple. Did not need to be a genius to see that. She must be afraid Jessica rationalized to herself. She must be afraid of someone coming in and replacing her.

She was not one of them. Well, that much was obvious. But that did not mean she was a pariah to be ridiculed or ignored. What did she do that was so offensive, anyway, other than show up to the party? Against her will. She wanted to be there less than they wanted her!

"Bollucks."

Her thoughts were jumbled, and Jessica reached for a random book left on the table to help settle her mind. Pulling at the hardcover, she sighed. Jane Austen would do.

JJJJJ

Several hours must have passed in the dusty room. The sounds of remote clicking of a clock down the hall and gentle swiffle of the pages as they turned beneath her fingers were equivalent to car engines roaring on a busy street, the space was so still. Half of the pages she just skimmed, because she already read the book twice over, but the farther the girl pressed into the novel, the more her mind slipped past the anxiety biting her and into a semi-relaxed state.

The door opened, and Jessica peered over. A black mass of hair stark against a white shirt and face greeted her.

"B?"

There was no answer and upon further inspection, the girl realized that it was Lawliet entering the room. Readying herself for another round of who's-better-than-you, she firmly said, "Hello Lawliet."

"I am L."

She almost said 'of course you are' but thought better to bite her tongue. The boy approached, surveying the area with meaningful glances toward the hardcover in her hands. _Sense and Sensibility_. He sniffed and pulled out the chair across from her. Crawling up onto the seat, L crouched, his thin form slouching forward so that his fingertips could dance on the table according to some abstract tune. Slowly, his coal eyes lifted to Jessica's as she lowered the book and stared warily in return.

"Quillish informs me that my manners are poor," He said idly.

The linen binding drooped a little as she clarified, "You mean Mr. Whammy?"

"There is no other Quillish here," He replied, his eyes narrowing. "In fact, in the whole of England, Quillish is rather rare name, an estimated thirty currently reside in the United Kingdom, ninety-eight percent born between nineteen-o-eight and nineteen-forty-two, and only one with the last name Whammy. He is rather famous, you know."

Jessica could feel her expression balking, "How do you know all of that?"

The boy shrugged, disregarding the question with one of his own, "You are from an upper class family."

"So?" Her brows knit down like he just spat an insult, "Does that mean I can't be here? Is that what Catelin told you?"

There was no reply. L simply continued to stoop, looking at her as though he were trying to gage something. As the silence prolonged, Jessica could not help the irritated snort that escaped, shaking her head and gritting her teeth.

Finally, mustering a sigh, she snipped across the table, "Why do you sit like that, anyway?"

"It helps me think."

She raised a slim eyebrow sardonically, "How so?"

"My cognitive function increases by sixty percent when I sit like this."

She had to laugh. It sounded too ridiculous, especially coming from a nine-year-old's mouth, like a kitten sounding big with its growl. She produced a snotty grin and shot back, "Still, it's rude."

"How so?" L had long stopped his finger tapping and regarded her, a blank mask over his face.

"It's not rocket science," Jessica felt more and more the urge to shout in his face, slam the book on the table, and run out of the room. This boy, who had not said more than five words to her in the weeks she resided at the House, chose this moment to break her seclusion with his inane mannerisms. Her words were clipped, "Your feet are where your bum should be."

"That bothers you."

She made a face that went with her words, "It's poor manners."

"You know much about etiquette, then."

L had not phrased his retort as a question, rather an established observation. Jessica sat up and checked her behavior, only realizing now how much she may have gone askew herself in her exasperation. Her grandmother would be rushing in to amend the situation by now. A stern lecture would follow. The girl thumbed the page she was reading and answered more calmly, "My mother's been shoving it down my throat since I was five."

"I want you to teach etiquette to me."

Her eyes snapped back up his. L had not moved, had not blinked. The quiet demand caught her off guard and she questioned, "I'm sorry?"

"I want you to teach etiquette to me," the boy repeated. After a moment, he added, "Please."

"Why?" She was wary now. Why would this child genius choose to approach her now, someone so obviously not like him?

It was simple, really, "You know the proper methods, and I need to improve on my manners."

She swallowed and rolled her eyes, "Social skills too from the looks of it."

There was a pause before his voice picked up again, "That is true."

Jessica considered him but lacked any patience to deal with such a stress in the moment. The incident in the sitting room was still vivid in her memory. Huffing, she picked her book back up, making sure the binding covered his face, "Well, to start, sit down with your bum in the chair and be quiet."

She assumed he followed her instruction and after some soft shuffling and a brief scrape of the chair against the wood floor, the room became silent again. For a few blissful minutes, anyway.

"This is uncomfortable."

"It's not supposed to be comfortable," she growled, turning a page she had not been reading.

"You are irritated with me."

Jessica slapped the novel down, and the resounding bang made the boy across from her unconsciously jump. Her eyes were pleading, prickling with tears as she exclaimed, "L, I just want to be left alone. No one likes me here."

After the initial shock of her outburst wore off, L tilted his head to the side, carefully watching his fingers as they traced the table edge, "A likes you."

"Well, I don't like it here!" She bellowed, which was rewarded with another wide-eyed jerk from the boy. Slouching herself, she muttered into her hands on the table, "It's cold and lonely."

An awkward silence filled the space that left the boy across from her fidgeting. Jessica assumed it was because he did not know what to say, and why would he? He could not even sit in a chair properly. The best he could do was make observations that probably were never meant for her in the first place. That, and make up nonsense about obscure British names.

L continued to adjust himself in the chair, nodding slightly as his thoughts formed words, "It's not too bad, once you become used to it. Solitude can be good."

"Yeah?" She blinked a few times to quell the threating tears, "I'm not used to solitude."

"You feel abandoned."

Another observation that unnerved her. He was as bad as Syn, except he voiced his thoughts, while the specter simply watched her and spoke to her in her head. The mere vision of the demon lead her to think of that stupid Book, which lead her to think of her grandfather, dead and buried and gone. She could sense the bile want to climb up her throat.

"My parents just dumped me here when I need them the most. How do you suspect I feel?" Jessica glared at the boy and then stopped, placed her hand to mouth and sat back in her chair. Internal chastisement washed over her in waves of guilt, all the while the boy across from her continued to fidget, his eyes choosing to study the binding of the book between them. Slowly, she amended, "I'm sorry. Here I am complaining about my parents and you don't even have any."

L glanced up, apparently unaffected by her comment, his face still blank, his voice still flat, "Quillish is like a father. The only father-like figure I remember, anyway."

"You don't remember your family at all?"

He shrugged, "They died when I was very young."

Jessica nodded, her face red with shame, "Then you came here?"

"No."

The word, although given in the same calm manner, carried more meaning with it than the girl expected the boy to give. Hidden within the word were multiple people, multiple moves, multiple trials. Perhaps such trauma early in his years caused L to be withdrawn, or perhaps his introverted nature resulted in his many moves. She did not know. She could never know.

"That must have been difficult for you," was all she could really say.

L perked up with a hint of smirk that vanished as quickly as it formed, "It was more difficult for them, I would think. I was not the most cooperative child."

It was then that Jessica recognized why he chose this moment to visit her in the library. L was attempting to reach out, even if his presence was less than desired. He was asking for her help, although disguising it for something he could use. Perhaps that was what he was capable of at his age. She could expect no better from someone who may never have had a stable home or a proper life. She was acting no better than Catelin, believing herself better than those around her. It was silly. Her grandfather would be disappointed.

Jessica folded hands in her lap and nudged her head at L, "You need to sit up."

L straightened himself against the back of the chair.

"And take your hands off the table."

The fingers edging the wooden surface disappeared. Jessica pursed her lips, contemplating the child across from her. His dark eyes were serious, calm. His pale profile soft and relaxed. He looked like a doll he was so still. An ungroomed doll. She quirked her brow, affirming, "And you need to brush your hair."

The smallest of smiles graced his lips.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Hi! Thanks again for continuing to read. This is a short chapter, but will be ultimately a long story, so please enjoy full character development of the OC as well as the myriad of canon characters to come. As you might have observed from the last chapter, Syn is not a typical spirit. Please note, that I will not refer to Shinigami in the Japanese sense because we are England and bound by English/European references to Death. Hope that doesn't dull things for you guys.

As usual, please review. I would love to hear what you think. Happy reading!

* * *

><p>Chapter 6<p>

For nearly three hundred years, It lingered. When Syn was first called into existence, confusion washed over It as gently as a ripple, caressing the flowering consciousness just as it came into focus. Tinges of memories surfaced that did not belong to It anymore than they might belong to a piece of film; the negative highlights contrasted the light and dark a bit too sharply, a bit too unclearly to know for certain. The tug to answer Its call was too strong to disregard, however, and when It came into being, the first vision given was that of a Book and a spoken agreement between mortal and immortal worlds.

There were beings sharing Its existence too, but they were different. Gangly creatures, fickle, emotional. Spirits of ambition, but with so little knowledge. Inexperienced. Immature. They waged war on each other, prided themselves with imaginary ideals, and fancied the notions of love and fortune and the possibility of a salvation that did not exist, at least not in the way they perceived. These concepts meant nothing to Syn, who stood as a mute sentinel, a witness to the consequences of their choices and the impact they had on their own realm.

Immortality. To live forever. That was the sole reason for Its existence. A plea made long ago, and as long as the cycle was maintained and the Book was used, Syn would remain.

This plane, this _Earth_ was unfamiliar, so heartless and lonely, despite being the only place It had ever known. The ambivalence Syn regarded for these creatures, these humans as they were referred to, eventually dissolved into a bland curiosity. Perhaps that was natural for Its kind. It wondered why they felt the need to affect change in their world. It wondered why emotion drove them so carelessly. Syn pondered then why It lacked such fervor, a deep-seated understanding that such effort made very little difference in the end. Most things simple are.

The book passed many hands, but it could only be controlled by a select few. That was the agreement between the Old One and the mortal quavering before Awe. The price of its use was high, but the benefit was immediate, however shortsighted the deal actually was for the human involved. Syn innately knew this, but remained silent. Without the Book, It would cease to be.

It observed how the Book changed those who were in control of it. The innocence bled from the human Holder like tears, seemingly aging them internally beyond any surficial youth preserved by the Book's use. Their souls darkened. Their actions became tainted no matter the resilience of their resolve. Yet, the transition would aid them in the end, no doubt, when they eventually expired and shed their skin to meet the Old One again, this time as Its servant rather than simply Its disciple. Syn knew this too, but again remained silent, for these beings were fragile and exposing the cosmos so quickly could prove harmful to the process and moot in its effect anyway.

Some Holders regarded the Book with cult-like fascination. Others rejected the prize offered to them, defiant in their morals to never use such 'evil' to their benefit. Neither approach mattered, as the end result was the same. The Book would be passed, as it always had, to one who would use it at least once in their lives. The compulsion was too great to be ignored. Their realm was too violent, too unfair, too confusing to disregard the power bestowed upon them. And as the guilt or pride slowly consumed the individual, another power was fed in the Beyond that waited for them.

The Book of Death was indeed a rare object. To be bestowed upon a human, it was the only one of its kind.

Like the Book, Syn too was the only one of Its kind.

That was not to say that It did not see other creatures like It on the rare occasion. Although the Book of Death was an exceptional item, it was not the only Book of its likeness. All creatures of Death carried one, and like Syn, these beings possessed an affinity, or were required, to follow the trials of the Human world. Syn wondered if these so-called 'Angels of Death' were once human themselves, and as such felt the draw to return. Perhaps these were past Holders. Syn did not know. But, it somehow did know the rules of their Books differed to the one It was bound to. Such a power inevitably drew them to the Holders, either by accident or by intent, to feed on an opportunity to bend the human to their will. Syn did not like these creatures and was quick to realize that It had the ability to destroy them if It so desired. To come too closely to the charge that summoned It was a threat.

Perhaps that was a trait carried over by the Old One into its conscience; one of the many differences between Syn and the familiar Angels around It. Syn too had the ability to reach into the mortal world, but only chose to do so if Its Holder was in danger and unable to fulfill their duty.

Such was the lonely cycle. Syn was isolated and apathetic. Its only objective was to continue Its existence and ensure the Old One's deal was met. The observations of the beings surrounding It posed only the most modest of curiosity. Perhaps Syn should care. Perhaps there should be a more invested interest in the world It inhabited and the creatures that visited out of boredom or cause. The exertion of this contemplation alone, however, was enough for Syn to withdraw.

Too much effort, really.

If It knew anything at all through the centuries of Its existence though, Syn understood that life for the Holder was a difficult one. No amount of luck would ease the misfortunate that followed a Book of Death – The Death Note.

Syn looked upon the child before It. Jessica was a small girl, pretty and charming as her upbringing taught her to be. Her long brunette hair curled over her lithe shoulders and framed a delicate, heart-shaped face. Her straight nose and light eyebrows highlighted the roundness of her hazel eyes. High cheeks paired with thin lips. Many humans would regard her as beautiful when she reached adulthood. It had seen these features throughout the entire line of her family. Beautiful humans capable of doing terrible, ugly things.

Although her grandfather had little control to whom the Book was passed, Syn understood that there was a sigh of relief that the passage would skip a generation. Indeed, the old politician locked the Book away deep within a safe the moment the child was born, and had since been careful to ensure her education so that she might be prepared someday. Of course there was no amount of preparation to relieve the shock, he knew. The old man's disbelief took years to wane after his own brother passed away. Acceptance was impossible, the list of names lining pages and pages and pages sending queasy sensations through the human every time he looked at it.

Humans were weak.

This girl would be no different.

Even now, as Syn watched her slowly leaf through the Book, It could sense the inquisitiveness rise within her. What would possess someone to desire an object like this? Why are there so many names? Are these all people killed by the Book? How do people die? These questions rang like bells around her spirit, radiating off her aura in shimmering aqua hues; a familiar haunting tune It knew all too well.

Jessica reached a blank page in the ledger and placed a shaky palm over the thick, unholy parchment.

"Syn."

The specter remained mute in Its corner of her bedroom. Weeks passed since she returned from Switzerland, and summer was nearing an end. For the most recent days, the girl sat on her bed, tentatively thumbing the binding the book in horror. It was as though she could not believe such a tome was real, much like she very much wished her Grandfather were still alive and that her reality was as it was before.

But all things are finite. All things have an end.

"How did my grandfather die?"

She was young. Curious. She was human, after all.

"His heart failed."

Jessica's hand remained hovering over the page. Syn could feel her blood racing.

"Did you know he was going to die?"

"I know when all creatures will die."

She blinked, "Did you know how he was going to die as well?"

Syn pondered Its answer, "Humans can be unpredictable as they are obsessive."

Tears began to well under her hooded lids. The sun was shining through her window, casting her profile in brilliant shades of gold against stark shadow. Slowly, Jessica's fingers reached to the edge of the page, turning it back to reveal the bottom of the register.

_George Robert Lambert II, May 16__th__ 1988_

"Why?" Her voice barely registered.

Syn observed her, Its deep, gravelly response empty by comparison to the quakes of sorrow emanating from Its charge below, "Perhaps he was tired."

With a human, who is to say?


End file.
